Heart In Denial
by Demasiado Piola
Summary: So, when France had started to just politely greet England in the hallways, to stay at a fair distance from him at meetings and to give roses to other nations rather than the Briton… well, it was confusing and horribly out of place...not that he cared...


**Heart in Denial**

He didn't know when the new attitude of France started to worry and even annoy him. He didn't mind it the first month, but the frog had been acting strange for months now, and in all honesty (even if the Briton would never admit it), he was starting to get seriously worried…

Who wouldn't? England wasn't the only one slightly nervous and confused at France's actions; he had noticed and listened to a bunch of nations talking about it amongst themselves in meetings, also surprised and confused.

For years it had been routine for France to launch himself at England in meetings, to try to grab his butt in the hallways, to give him a rose along with a cheesy and horribly romantic phrase… it had always been like that, for as long as the Englishman could remember; though England would curse and hit the Frenchman whenever the other blonde tried to get near him.

So, when France had started to just politely greet England in the hallways, to stay at a fair distance from the Briton at meetings and to give roses to other nations rather than the Briton… well, it was confusing and horribly out of place.

The first time the Frenchman started acting this way, the whole conference room immediately assumed that maybe the country of _amour _was just mad at the island nation for some trivial fight as usual. England himself didn't know what to think of it at that time, though he didn't actually pay much attention to it, as he was just too happy and comfortable to have that damn frog away from his personal space.

However, when this strange behaviour from the Frenchman's side started to repeat itself in every single meeting, the whole world felt as if mankind was coming to an end. France was usually glued to the Briton during meetings, either fighting about idiotic stuff or flirting with the island nation and getting insulted or hit by him in return. Seeing France in the same room as England not even near the island nation, but rather on the other side of the room, made every single nation on the planet believe that maybe the Mayan's prediction about the world ending in 2012 was actually true.

The Frenchman's out of the ordinary behaviour didn't go ignored by a certain Englishman either. The first few times the other had left him alone during meetings had actually been enjoyable for the tea-loving nation; finally being able to relax and let his guard down and sip his cup of tea in complete harmony. He didn't have to worry about a certain Frenchman getting too close for comfort, about certain adventurous hands trying to feel up his thighs or his butt and nor did he have to hear that aggravating tone of voice with that annoying French accent saying sweet nothings full of_ amour_ every five seconds in his ear.

The first few times had been paradise for him, as even though the Frenchman didn't pay attention to him when it came to flirting or groping him, they did fight as always whenever one of them had to expose their ideas, and they also still sided up against America whenever the young nation came up with stupid proposes as always.

England was actually pleased with the frog's new behaviour, believing that the other had finally "seen the light", understanding the fact that he wasn't the slightest bit interested in the French-speaking nation in a romantic way; even though he still enjoyed that rivalry they both shared.

That was until France decided that England wasn't worth his time nor attention, ignoring the island nation completely, to the point he just didn't exchange words with the British man anymore.

With the exception of a _"bonjour!" _(which was just out of politeness), France wouldn't speak a word or even glance towards England during meetings anymore. But that wasn't all; the Frenchman also wouldn't make any attempts at fighting or snapping at the British man either.

He wouldn't make a comment of any kind on England's ideas when the other was talking, he wouldn't insult England's nasty cooking, nor would he make insulting jokes about the Briton's terribly thick and huge eyebrows. He would just ignore the other's existence all together, as if he wasn't there at all.

Thanks to this drastic change in the Frenchman's attitude, the atmosphere of doubt and uneasiness that now engulfed the conference room every time they had a meeting was as thick as butter. Nations still disturbed and nervous with this new change would gather around making assumptions or possible scenarios as to why France would completely ignore England in the first place. Rumours started spreading throughout the world as poison rushing through someone's veins.

And even though all the rumours and glances in World Meetings would revolve around a certain island nation, England was just as confused and nervous as all the other nations. He had no idea as to why France had suddenly stopped caring about him, stopped taking notice of his existence. He hadn't minded at first, when this new "change of attitude" had started; he had actually liked to be left alone for once.

But he didn't like being ignored.

It wouldn't have been that bad if the Frenchman would've just ignored him during meetings, but the frog wouldn't even glance in his general direction outside the conference room as well. He wouldn't try to get into his house at night, nor would he call the Briton to annoy him or to just start a discussion as always.

Nothing.

It was as if the French-speaking nation had suddenly ceased to exist in England's life. And after months of not having any kind of contact with the other blond, England found himself missing the frog's idiotic voice and company.

Not that he would ever admit it. He'd rather die before telling anyone that he missed the wine bastard, his pride bigger than anything else. His fairy friends had tried with not much success to tell him to go to the nation of _amour_ and ask him directly what was going on. But he refused; he was not going to show any kind of weakness, especially in front of his long time rival. Arriving at the other's door asking for an explanation to the Frenchman's new behaviour could be taken as if he _cared _the other was ignoring him.

But he _did _care. He was just too proud to admit it. He knew if he showed any kind of weakness or admitted that he actually missed the frog, the annoying git would win.

England had come to the conclusion that this was a game France was playing with him. A challenge.

And he wouldn't lose. He wouldn't let himself lose.

He would keep on living his life. Ignoring the Frenchman too. After months of playing this game, both ignoring the other's existence, the world had gotten used to the eerie silence during meetings; gotten used to the civilized way people exposed their ideas, how no one would argue, how America's idiotic expositions were totally ignored to the point were neither of the two countries involved in this "game" would even glance at the World Power when it was his turn to expose.

Meetings suddenly became extremely boring, absolutely lifeless.

And England noticed, but didn't do anything about it. He felt as if something was missing, that a part of him had died with the sudden disappearance of the frog in his life. He had realized that life without the wine bastard was horribly boring, with absolutely no emotion in it. He missed the fighting, the insults, the screaming. He missed the attention and care the other used to give him, even if he had always pushed him away in the past.

He noticed that without the frog, he was completely alone. Apart from France and America on occasions (and America's brother, what's-his-name) he didn't talk to anyone else during meetings, except for some words with other nations he found nice, but nothing more. Now that the frog wasn't talking to him, he found himself not talking to anyone. The first few times, America had tried to start conversations with him, trying to annoy him so the older nation would have someone else to fight with, rather than the wine bastard. It had worked at first, but after months and months of being in the same room as France and not talking to him, he started to leave early, to the point not even America had the chance to talk to him anymore.

He had discovered that it hurt. That it hurt to see the other nation smile, flirt with others. It hurt to see him laugh along with Prussia and Spain. It hurt to see him act as if nothing had happened, as if England meant nothing to him.

He didn't know if it was because he was jealous. Jealous that France had more friends than he had. Jealous that France paid attention to others and not to him.

France liked _him_, not them! France flirted with _him_, gave _him_ flowers, cooked for _him_!

Yet, here he was, being ignored by the only nation who had ever shown any interest in him. The only nation that had always been there for him, even if they fought and argued all the time…

Didn't France love him anymore? Didn't he care for him? …Did he really mean so little to the wine-loving bastard?

* * *

><p>This was it. Today was the day.<p>

He had spent the previous night coming up with a plan. After six months of having absolutely no contact with the French-speaking nation, England decided to put a definite end to it.

He was sick of it. Sick of being ignored, sick of France not paying attention to _him_, sick of France talking with others rather than _him._ Sick of France not looking at _him_!

Couldn't the French bastard realize he wasn't allowed to do that? Couldn't he notice that he belonged to _him_? Him and him alone!

It had taken six months of not having the other around for England to realize he liked the attention he received from the wine bastard. That he liked it when the other said sweet nothings in French just for him, that he liked it when France would suddenly appear in his kitchen and cook for him.

It had taken six months for England to realize that he _liked_ the Frenchman; that he hated to see him with anyone else rather than himself.

So, after hours and hours of drinking alcohol, talking with his fairy friends and being hit by the realization that he actually missed and liked the Frenchman a lot, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland came to the conclusion that he needed to have the frog back in his life again. And that he was going to beat the crap out of him for ignoring him in the first place.

He had decided that his heartache and the huge amounts of jealousy he had been feeling needed to end, and that he was willing to sacrifice his pride, reputation and anything else if it meant to have the damn French frog back in his life.

Today was the day he was going to face the Frenchman, ask him why in the world was he ignoring him and then beat him up to a bloody pulp for thinking he could get away with ignoring him for so long. He would then proceed to inform the wine bastard that he wasn't allowed to ignore him anymore and that if he dared doing it again, he was going to personally murder him. Slowly.

He didn't care if it sounded as if he was jealous (because he _was_), he didn't mind if France would laugh at him for losing the challenge, he didn't mind if France teased him about it, told him that he was pathetic. He couldn't care less.

He just wanted the damn frog back. Even if France would laugh at him and call him names. It would be just as before. He needed to argue and fight with the frog; he needed to push the frog away when the other tried to feel him up. He needed to go back to how it used to be. It didn't feel right otherwise.

He also needed to know if the Frenchman still felt something for him. He needed to know if he was still important to him…

Drinking the last remains of his bottle of whiskey and adjusting his tie, he glanced at himself in the mirror and proceeded to go on with his plan.

After hours of travelling from his homeland to the frog's territories, he found himself in Paris; France's capital and heart.

The moment he set food on French land he felt his stomach turn. The sudden rush of courage and determination he had felt some hours ago had totally vanish the moment the alcohol's effects ceased to affect him. He was sober now, and his insecurities, fears and bloody pride were taking control of him once again.

He thought of leaving, screwing the fact that he was needy and alone and needed the annoying bearded blond back into his life. His inexperience when it came to voicing his emotions fed his insecurities, to the point he felt paralyzed, his mind completely blank.

What was he thinking?

He started to walk back to the station to take the train back to England when a thought crossed his mind. Returning home would mean he was going to be alone again, still ignored and depressed.

He didn't want that.

A sudden rush of anger and rage attacked his system when he remembered the lonely and just painful months he had lived during the past time.

It was all the frog's fault! How dare he ignore him! Was he not good enough for him? He wouldn't be so confused if it weren't for him!

The anger he suddenly felt killed all the insecurities and fears he had been feeling minutes ago. He found his courage renewed, anger and rage being much more effective than alcohol this time. He felt like punching the idiot's face hard. He had been mourning, feeling slightly depressed all this time, believing that it was his fault the frog didn't even glance at him anymore.

There was nothing wrong with him. France was the one that was wrong!

Without even noticing, he found himself standing and panting furiously in front of the Frenchman's door. He felt a vague feeling of nostalgia, remembering the many times he had come here in the past. He shook the idiotic memories away and with anger still running vividly through his veins, he knocked as hard as he could at the door in front of him; hitting it with so much force he almost had the impression he was going to break right through it if he kept on hitting it like that.

It wasn't long before the offended door swung open, revealing the man who had been in his mind for months right in front of him. The moment he set eyes on the Frenchman, the other visibly froze, not believing what was in front of him. England felt his mind go blank for a moment. It had been so long since the last time he had seen him face to face that the British man had totally forgotten how beautiful the other's eyes were.

He would've kept on staring at them, if it wasn't for his anger, hurt pride and jealousy striking him once again, making him snap out of the little trance he had fallen victim of.

France looked as if he was about to say something to break the uncomfortable silence they had fallen in, but he wasn't even able to voice whatever he was going to say when an enraged fist connected nicely with his jaw. The country of _amour _fell down, hitting the floor pretty hard, a surprised yelp escaping his lips.

He hadn't even realized what had just happened; the pain being too distracting for him to notice what was going on, when two strong hands grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him up. He found himself staring right into a pair of furious emerald green eyes.

"…_A-Angleterre…?"_

"Shut up, wanker!"

England didn't know if the blush that spread through his cheeks was because of the anger he was feeling, or because he had forgotten that the frog was so _handsome._

He immediately shook the thought away, not believing what had just crossed his mind. Damned frog for confusing him so much…

He looked down towards the wine bastard, who was looking up at him with fearful but curious eyes, the lower half of his face starting to bruise up from the punch he had received earlier from the Englishman.

The Briton took a deep breath.

"I want you to listen to me carefully, you bloody bastard, I'm not repeating myself again…"

His tone of voice was full of emotion, making him sound extremely angry and hurt. France didn't dare to say anything; he just looked up at _Angleterre_ with a blank expression on his face.

"I don't like being ignored. In fact, I hate it. So stop acting like a bloody immature bastard and start paying attention to me again…!"

He tried as hard as he could not to sound too needy or desperate, but the flow of emotions running through him were too much to handle, making him sound extremely pathetic.

Of course, for France to just stay quiet and accept anything his long time rival said with opened arms was asking too much.

England felt his confidence vanish when the nation who was still being strongly held in his grasp smiled in that annoying way of his. A smile the wine bastard used when something seemed highly amusing for him.

"Oh. And why would I do that?"

The moment France's words reached the Englishman's ears England visibly froze. He couldn't believe what the frog had just said. For a moment the island nation's mind was completely blank, not knowing what to answer in return. He could see from where he was how France's amused grin had grown bigger.

Looking down at the French nation in his grasp; looking down straight into that confident smile the Frenchman wore, he felt a sudden wave of anger flow through him once again, taking away the sudden insecurity he had felt moments ago.

Oh no, he wasn't going to let the frog win. The frog was going to do whatever he said and that was a fact. He knew that he had injured his pride and reputation by coming all the way from London to Paris to face the frog and demand attention, but he wasn't going to let the frog think he was weak.

He sighed deeply before sporting the most menacing glare he could, one he hadn't used in centuries. His huge eyebrows met in the middle of his face, his cheeks red out of pure rage. France's grin disappeared in a heartbeat the moment that glare was shot at him, memories of furious battles from their pirate days flashing through his head.

France knew that glare all too well, and it never meant good news.

"Because if you don't want me to beat you to a bloody pulp, I'd advice you to do exactly as I say, you insufferable git!"

France stayed silent, too afraid to say anything. The nation of love wouldn't dare to even move when England got like this. They always fought, yes; the Englishman would get angry and violent, yes. But for him to get like this, it was extremely rare nowadays. It took a lot to make England get so enraged.

Without further notice, France felt himself being lifted up rather violently from the ground. He gasped at the sudden motion as the Briton decided to lift him up to his eye level by the collar he hadn't let go since the very beginning. The Frenchman found himself staring straight into the other's furious green eyes, their faces mere inches away.

"I want this to be extremely clear. You're not allowed to ignore me EVER again, you heard me? Who do you think I am? Someone you can get rid off so easily?"

England's voice was loud and demanding, his body shaking with each and every word said. The bottled up emotions he had been carrying for months were too much for him to handle anymore, so he was letting them out. He didn't care what the other would think of him; he desperately needed to get them out.

The Englishman closed his eyes shut, not wanting to look at the Frenchman's face anymore.

"Did I do something wrong? Was it something I said? Something I did? What is it? Talk!"

When he didn't receive any response from his rival after several seconds, he opened his eyes. What he saw baffled him completely, making him curse his decision of opening them. France was looking up at him, a small, almost shy smile on his bruised face.

"_Non_, It's not that_, Angleterre_."


End file.
